


innocence died screaming (honey, ask me, i should know)

by ivyalexandrias, milfdrcarmilla (ivyalexandrias)



Series: terminal hnoc brainrot [2]
Category: High Noon Over Camelot - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Author Is Not Religious, Bittersweet Ending, I GUESS.jpg, M/M, Oral Sex, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Religion Kink, Religious Guilt, Title from a Hozier Song, Trans Galahad (High Noon Over Camelot), Trans Male Character, ask to tag?, from eden to be specific, idk why the end turned out so angsty? whoops lol, kinda?? i feel like i should tag it but it's just. a lot of religious imagery rlly., no beta we die like the pendragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyalexandrias/pseuds/ivyalexandrias, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyalexandrias/pseuds/milfdrcarmilla
Summary: Just like every other game he’s played, there’s only one way it can end, with the preacher pinned against the wall of his home, barely through the front door before Brian’s descending on him. There’s a thigh pressed between his legs, Brian’s teeth on his neck, infuriatingly gentle even as they threaten to pierce flesh, and he wishes the other man would give in, wishes he’d break Galahad, instead of bringing him to the very brink of destruction, only to pull him back at the very last moment.He supposes he’s made quite the sinner of himself, but how can he resist, when Brian’s kisses are all teeth and tongue and whispered blasphemy, impossibly human and damningly vicious, and so, so capable of ruining the preacher in the most wonderful way.
Relationships: Drumbot Brian (The Mechanisms)/Galahad (High Noon Over Camelot)
Series: terminal hnoc brainrot [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082618
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	innocence died screaming (honey, ask me, i should know)

**Author's Note:**

> galahad is a trans man, terms used for him are chest, cunt, cock/dick, entrance, and hole. brian has Ambiguous Robot Genitalia, but he uses a strap-on in this so that doesn’t really matter.
> 
> there’s a lot of religious imagery going on in this one lads! i’m not christian and i genuinely don’t care enough to actually like. google anything beyond the basics so all of this is going off of what i know already and what my friend told me while i was dming them about this on tumblr. feel free to correct me in the comments if i’ve horribly fucked something up.

It’s like clockwork, this game of theirs. Galahad and ~~Merlin~~ _Brian_ work around each other like a complicated dance only they know the steps to, all meaningful glances and words exchanged in passing that are both almost too quiet to make out, and loud enough that Galahad supposes he might as well scream them out loud for the whole town to hear.

Just like every other game he’s played, there’s only one way it can end, with the preacher pinned against the wall of his home, barely through the front door before Brian’s descending on him. There’s a thigh pressed between his legs, Brian’s teeth on his neck, infuriatingly gentle even as they threaten to pierce flesh, and he wishes the other man would give in, wishes he’d _break_ Galahad, instead of bringing him to the very brink of destruction, only to pull him back at the very last moment.

He supposes he’s made quite the sinner of himself, but how can he resist, when Brian’s kisses are all teeth and tongue and whispered blasphemy, impossibly human and damningly vicious, and so, so capable of _ruining_ the preacher in the most wonderful way.

Galahad is pulled from his thoughts at the feeling of a hand coming to rest on his cheek, cool metal tapping his skin lightly. Belatedly, he whimpers at the realization that Brian has almost fully pulled away, but before he can even start to reach for him, to tug him back, there’s another hand pinning his arms back, and he moans aloud at the feeling of Brian’s hand almost completely encircling both of his wrists.

“Stay with me.” Brian hums, voice low, and wickedly fond. Galahad swallows dryly, nodding. He knows what Brian wants, what he always wants. The whole purpose of these endeavors is to pull him out of his own mind, to ground him in a way that only Brian can. Approval sparks in Brian’s eyes and Galahad melts into him as he leans back in, lightly scraping his teeth across his neck, drawing a low whine from his throat. His voice catches on a curse, not yet broken down to that point, but quickly approaching it. 

He realizes after a long moment that Brian is murmuring words against his skin, and he strains to make them out. Most are lost before they reach his ears, reduced to senseless wisps of sounds, but after a moment, he manages to catch it. 

“ _Behold you are beautiful, my darling. Behold you are beautiful; your eyes are doves._ ” Galahad can’t decide whether to laugh or moan, the scripture flowing beautifully off of Brian’s tongue, exquisitely sinful in its purity. He settles on a breathy noise that falls somewhere between the two, and he feels Brian’s lips curl into a satisfied smile as he continues brushing gentle, open-mouthed kisses along the preacher’s neck and shoulder, the moment startlingly tender for what Galahad knows is coming soon.

After what feels like far too long and far too little time, Brian pulls away, eyes raking up and down his form, and Galahad sees a different kind of spark in his eyes, smoldering low in the back of his gaze. It ignites something within him as well, and he trembles in place as Brian steps back, finally releasing his wrists from the bruising grip they had been trapped in. Galahad lets them fall to his side, and Brian smiles, face a mask of brazen want, and he feels his knees go a little weak.

This is just another intricacy of their game, Galahad remembers, and he looses a trembling breath as he slips through the small house, back towards the bedroom. He’s sure Brian knows his way around the preacher’s house just as well as he does by now, but every time this happens, Galahad finds himself leading the taller man through the hall, into the small room he’s claimed as his sanctuary. Then, just as he always does, Brian descends on him full force as soon as the door clicks shut behind the two of them.

There are always small pauses, the other man waiting for permission to unbutton Galahad’s shirt, even as he has him pinned to the bed, watching possessively as he whines for _more_ , fervent pleas spilling from his lips as he grinds down against the knee Brian slips between his thighs. He nods, murmuring nonsensical prayers to the other man as if he knows what they mean, as if he knows anything beyond the fact that he _needs_ this, and Brian is refusing to give it to him.

Lithe fingers undo his shirt, slipping underneath to brush reverently over the scars covering his skin. Some are from accidents, reminders of gashes cut across his skin by broken stones and sharp glass and even sharper blades. Others, he wears proudly, like the twin arches across his chest, a reminder that he made himself into the image of the man others refused to see. Brian tends to linger on those, pressing short, sweet kisses to the pale flesh, the marks standing out against tan skin, seemingly relishing the way Galahad squirms beneath him.

He whines, arcing into Brian’s touch, face flushed with arousal, every touch setting his skin alight. He clutches at the other man, nails scraping along his back in a way he knows would leave marks if Brian were still human. As it is, Galahad settles for the shiver it sends through him.

He pulls away, hooking his fingers under Galahad’s waistband, tugging his trousers down over his hips. He sucks in a sharp breath, trembling as, even when he carefully begins tracing tiny circles along his now-exposed inner thighs, Brian doesn’t stop murmuring scripture. If Galahad wasn’t going to hell already, he knows this’ll be what condemns him, because the low vibrations of Brian’s voice as he recites those holy words only serve to fuel the fire in his gut, and he whines as Brian teases so close to where Galahad needs him, never quite getting there.

“ _Your lips drip honey, my bride_ ;” Brian whispers, tone reverent, as if this is the first time that he’s seeing Galahad laid bare before him, transgressions all on display. His eternal damnation is told in a story made up of thin lines scored across arms and hips and thighs, of too-prominent ribs and the way his throat bobs, arousal clear in his gaze as he stares down at Brian, who meets his eyes with just as much intensity.

“ _Honey and milk under your tongue_ ,” He continues, finally relenting in his teasing as he slips like water down Galahad’s torso, trailing nips and soft licks across his skin as he does so. The first swipe of his tongue is sinfully sweet, setting the preacher’s nerves alight. The way Brian’s name falls from his mouth like a prayer is not lost on the other man, and he presses closer, adoration evident in his every movement, from the deceptively gentle way he holds Galahad’s hips down, to the way he hums low in his throat, a tune that Galahad thinks might be hymns. He can’t be sure, though, because he’s focused on every place him and Brian are connected, thumb rubbing gentle patterns on the smaller man’s sharp hipbone, his mouth pressed in a sinful mockery of a kiss against his cunt.

“Gh- _fuck, God, Brian._ ” Galahad swears for what he’s sure will be the first of many times tonight, unable to even gather the wherewithal to feel repentance. Brian rewards his blasphemy with a finger teasing at his entrance, and the preacher whines, doing his best to rock his hips down against Brian, but the hand on his hip keeps him in place, pinning him to the bed despite his best efforts.

The other man must be feeling merciful tonight, though, because he concedes, slipping a finger inside him, even as his tongue continues tracing sinful patterns, singing his silent praise. Galahad shudders against him, throwing his head back with a low groan as Brian crooks his finger cruelly. He knows what he’s doing, he _must_ , because Galahad feels his lips curl in a satisfied smirk as he adds another finger, pausing for a moment to let the preacher adjust, but Galahad has never been overly patient, and he’s insistently trying to grind back down on the other man’s fingers within moments.

Brian’s laugh rumbles in his chest, and Galahad’s hips stutter upwards as he pumps his fingers roughly, lapping cruelly at his cock, drawing a quiet, desperate whine from his throat. He claps a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sounds pouring from his lips, but Brian stops, fingers stilling as he pulls away. Galahad whimpers, chest heaving.

“I want to hear you.” Brian’s voice is rough, and his possessive tone sends a new wave of heat fluttering through Galahad’s limbs. Obediently, he removes his hand from his mouth, instead moving to hesitantly tangle it in Brian’s hair. When the other man leans into the touch, he tightens his grip, involuntarily twisting his hold as Brian lowers his head again, resuming his actions. Any pretense of gentleness is gone, it’s all sharp edges and long, rough swipes of his tongue, taking Galahad apart with renewed vigor.

His climax is a slow, unhurried thing, unfolding through his veins as he shakes apart in Brian’s hold, every focal point in his body narrowed down to Brian’s mouth on his cock, his fingers pumping sharp and quick inside of him, each cruelly angled thrust setting sparks alight in his core, the sensation almost enough to overwhelm. As it is, Galahad finds himself shattering, the feeling of Brian’s eyes meeting his making him feel like a martyr on display, spread wide for anyone to see. Fervent curses spill from his lips, Brian’s name on his tongue like a mantra, chanting it as sweetly as any prayer.

Eventually, he starts to tip over that knife’s edge of pleasure and pain, and he manages to gather his wits enough to tap Brian’s shoulder. The other man quickly pulls back, searching his face, the gentle fondness a stark contrast against the heat from earlier. Brian goes to fully pull away, but Galahad’s lunging forwards before he can, grabbing Brian’s face in his hands and tugging the larger man into a messy kiss.

He can still taste himself on Brian’s lips, and _damn_ if that isn’t a little hot. Brian seems surprised for a moment, but takes it in stride, clean hand coming up to cup Galahad’s cheek, and it takes the preacher a second to get his facilities under control enough to ensure that he doesn’t lean into the touch like a damn cat. As it is, he lets a soft noise rumble in his throat, not quite a moan, but close.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He growls into Brian’s mouth, and the other man grins as though Galahad has shared a wonderful secret with him, pressing another quick kiss to his lips before pulling away entirely. Even if it’s only for a moment, he mourns the loss of Brian’s presence, a solid weight next to him, grounding his thoughts.

It’s with practiced precision that Brian retrieves the harness from Galahad’s chest of drawers, a pretty thing, all deep red leather and brass fixings. He swallows thickly at the slightly ambitious cock Brian holds, a fresh surge of heat blossoming between his legs. It only takes a moment for Brian to slip the harness on, with the kind of ease that implies he’s more than used to the action, but Galahad doesn’t get a chance to dwell on that much, because Brian’s situated himself between his legs again, and he can’t even gather the breath for a witty remark before Brian’s fingers slip inside him once more, and whatever he was going to say trails off into a long groan. Brian leans forwards, mouthing at his pulse point, praise and scripture flowing together like milk and honey, till the two are nearly indistinguishable.

 _“And my hands dripped myrrh_ \- good boy, such a good boy for me- _and my fingers, flowing myrrh, on the handles of the lock I opened for my beloved_ \- so pretty, you’re so pretty like this, falling apart in my arms, my pretty boy.” Galahad trembles at the words, whining as he rocks forward on Brian’s hand, the stream of praise doing funny things to his heart. Brian adds a third finger, and he arches his back, the stretch sinfully delicious, hot sparks of pleasure coursing through him.

“God- _God,_ Brian, please- _fuck_.” His words quickly devolve into chanted pleas, incoherent and desperate. The part of his brain that isn’t devoted completely to Brian’s reverent touches kicks and fights at the blasphemy, crying out in pious objection, but he ignores it in favor of leaning into Brian with his full weight, wonderfully full but still aching for _more_.

Despite the sharp need fluttering through his veins like a hymn, just as beautiful and a thousand times holier, he still whines when Brian pulls back to retrieve the strap he’d chosen, retracting his fingers. He feels the emptiness acutely, even when the other is barely a foot away. Galahad leans back on his knees, the position a vicious mockery of prayer, hands braced on his knees as Brian crowds into his space again, knife-sharp tongue pressing into his mouth, swallowing any further noises that threaten to slip from his lips, preventing them from staining his soul further.

Brian is oh-so slow as he pushes into the preacher, humming softly in response as Galahad makes a noise somewhere between a shout and a sob, panting sharply into the space between them. The other man’s grip on his hips is near-bruising, holding him still even as he does his best to twist and squirm, breath shaking in his chest as their hips _finally_ fall flush together, the smaller man feeling like he’s going to combust any moment. Brian presses a soft kiss to his forehead, giving him a long moment to adjust, to stop feeling like he’s going to shatter into a thousand pieces in Brian’s arms. Eventually, he starts trying to rock his hips forwards, despite the tight hold Brian still has on him.

Before he can gather himself enough to plead, though, Brian takes mercy on him. The motions are calculated at first, sickly sweet rolls of his hips, just enough that Galahad shudders violently in his arms at the sensation, every drag of the other man’s cock inside him setting him alight, the sensation raging through his blood like a wildfire. Choked sounds tumble from Galahad’s lips, catching in his throat and spilling out in the form of half whispered prayers, the words achingly familiar in their sincerity, and he ignores how wrong it feels to use such holy phrases in this place so utterly empty of devotion.

Brian’s hands are everywhere at once, gripping Galahad’s hips, his thighs, hovering reverently at the hollow of his throat, the flat plane of his stomach, as if the other man can’t get enough of him, can’t establish enough contact to satisfy his needs. The preacher would be lying if he didn’t feel the same want burning beneath his own skin, urging him to press closer, arms hooked around Brian’s neck in an embrace of sorts, though he supposes it’s a thousand times more intimate.

The Lord’s name becomes an unending chant on Galahad’s lips as Brian fills him so, so thoroughly, every rough jerk of his hips grinding perfectly into him, drawing low, desperate noises from the smaller man.

Despite the heady aura hanging over them, countless sins hovering around their forms like cigarette smoke, the end is gentle, startlingly so. Brian rocks his hips forwards perfectly, at the same time his teeth lightly close down on the junction of Galahad’s neck and shoulder, leaving a perfect mark. The preacher cries out, Brian’s name sweeter on his lips than any hymn, shaking apart in his arms as the taller man strokes his hair, working him through it.

Sensations blur together after that, the feeling of Brian gently pulling out drawing another sound from him, though he’s not sure it actually makes its way past his throat. There’s a soft flurry of movement, lips quietly pressed against his temple, and the soft sound of a door clicking shut. Galahad does not try to convince Brian to stay, because that is not what this is. He has not grown to look forwards to these meetings, not only because of the way Brian manages to take him apart, but because he relishes the closeness. He does not wish Brian would stay, just once, would hold Galahad in his arms with no ulterior motive, no sticky sweet sins clinging to their skin, just the two of them in the moment. He has _not_ started to fall in love with Brian, because Brian is the Prophet and he is the Father and the roles that they play were never meant to overlap.

Lying, Galahad supposes, is not the worst of his sins tonight, so he allows himself a moment longer to continue his clever deception, dishonest words whispered to no one else except himself.

**Author's Note:**

> im a galahad kinnie im gay for brian do not fucking look at me  
> (comments and kudos fuel my soul!)  
> ((this was written mostly between 1 and 3am so. please let me know if i've mispelled smth horribly.))


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